This morning, I woke up early. Not on purpose; it’s just been happening (somehow, I think my brain knows I need some extra time to write). I wake up and begin thinking. I rolled out of bed and headed downstairs thinking, What to wear? It’s Friday. Good; it’s jeans day. I have a lot of working projects to do today. What will be comfortable? Got it: my favorite shirt.

I love wearing my brown, cafe’ cotton-knit shirt. It has different coffee motifs on it and fits perfectly. Three-quarter sleeves makes it the in-between shirt. The kind that’s not as hot as a sweater but warmer than short sleeves.

Coffee was brewing already (I love my programmable coffee pot!) and I grabbed a cup. Heading to my spot on the couch, I grabbed my notebook (strategically placed last night with pen inside) and began to think about my shirt. I wonder if I could write about a shirt? Ruth posted about finding the story in the ordinary things. Yes, shirts have stories. My shirt has a story.

And with that, I began to wonder how to explain how much my shirt means to me, describing the design, special occasions when I have worn it….

Then it happened. The story sparked.

I grabbed my notebook and began to write and write, and think, and write some more. Tears welled up in my eyes (that I was not expecting) as memories poured out. Emotions swelled. The shirt wasn’t much within this story; it was the link to the story.

Noticing the time, I had to get going with my morning routine. But I had the story. The story that will simmer in my notebook until I have more time to craft as a slice. The story that is powerful and meaningful and worth it.